“It’s mine now,” said Beryl, snatching it and slipping it on her finger. “I’m going to wear it.” “Bad dreams, the book says, and you’ve no right to it, you know,” said Andria. “Neither has old Egerton any right to me. I’ll bring him bad dreams, too, if I can. Oh, Andria! Isn’t it pretty? I never wore a ring in my life.” Andria looked silently at her own bare fingers where once the diamonds had felt heavy. “They didn’t bring happiness,” she said softly. “But you can wear it if you like. Where are the cards? I’ll teach you to play euchre.” Curiously enough, all Beryl’s nervousness of the night before had vanished. She sat down calmly with her back to the uncurtained windows and bestowed her whole attention on the game. Her left hand, with the cards in it, was held high, with the ring glittering on it, so that if there had been any one to look in they could have seen it plainly. The storm made the house shake, solid as it was, and the noise of it was deafening. There could be no one abroad to-night, yet suddenly Andria seemed to stiffen in her chair. “Beryl,” she whispered, putting down a card that was all wrong, “there’s the queerest sound in the wind! Like something sniffing at the door. Can’t you hear it?” “I heard it ages ago,” said Beryl gaily. “Perhaps it’s my cat. Shall I let it in?” “No! Don’t move. It’s too loud; no kitten could make it. It sounds like a horse sniffing dust and blowing it out again.” The girl listened. Very, very soft, in the battering wind, came another sound; a scratch, scratch, scratch at the door. “It is my kitten! I”--with a curious look in her eyes Beryl had risen--“I must go.” “You sha’n’t stir,” said Andria, with a sudden ugly gentleness. “You don’t know what’s outside. Come up-stairs; it isn’t safe here.” She caught Beryl’s arm and fairly pushed her from the room, catching up that lean, sharp dagger as she passed it. The instant they were over the threshold the scratching ceased, as if whatever was outside knew they had gone. Half-way up-stairs a sudden crash as if some one had upset a heavy table stopped both girls short. Fear caught Andria by the throat; silent and dry-lipped she pushed Beryl against the wall and stood in front of her, the dagger in her hand. Had something got in up-stairs? Was she to fight for both their lives--now--on these stairs? The next second she heard Salome’s voice: “Ladies, ladies,” she called frantically, “come up out o’ dat. Oh, my soul! Dey’s smelled de white blood--de white blood!” “Salome! I thought you’d gone to your own house. What is it?--there’s something--outside at the door.” “Come up, come up!” The black woman ran down to them, her snowy turban askew on her frizzy hair. “Oh, Miss Holbeach, I been here six years and I never seen nothin’ like dis. Dey’s hunted you down, hunted----” her voice broke horribly. “What?” said Beryl sharply. She broke from Andria’s hands and ran up-stairs. Andria tore after her, and stopped short at what she saw.